High in the mist-soaked hills of Meghalaya, where clouds descend to kiss the earth and waterfalls roar through emerald valleys, exists a marvel that blurs the boundary between human craft and the patient hand of nature—the living root bridges of Cherrapunji. These bridges are not built, they are grown, nurtured over generations until they become living monuments of resilience and harmony with the natural world.

The Khasi and Jaintia Visionaries

The history of the root bridges is inseparable from the Khasi and Jaintia tribes—the indigenous people of Meghalaya. For centuries, they lived in some of the wettest conditions on Earth. Cherrapunji receives torrential rainfall, causing bamboo and wooden bridges to rot within a few years. Faced with the challenge of crossing rivers swollen by monsoons, the tribes turned to the forest itself. The Ficus elastica tree, or the Indian rubber fig, became their silent partner. Its aerial roots, steady and flexible, could be guided across streams, rocks, and ravines.

Cherrapunji’s Living Root Bridges

The Art of Growing a Bridge

The process was nothing short of botanical engineering. The Khasi villagers would hollow out areca nut tree trunks, using them as living scaffolds.

They would then thread the aerial roots of the rubber fig through these hollow channels, stretching them across streams. As years passed, the roots thickened and intertwined, fusing together to create a natural lattice strong enough to bear human weight. I myself enjoyed walking across a bamboo bridge, and even filmed videos while standing on the living root bridge. These bridges can easily hold human weight. Unlike ordinary bridges, the living root bridges only grow stronger with time. A fifty-year-old bridge could last a century. This was sustainability long before the word existed—no nails, no concrete, no machines, just patience, vision, and deep ecological wisdom.

Some of the oldest known living root bridges in Cherrapunji and nearby villages like Nongriat are believed to be over 500 years old. Passed down from generation to generation, their care was a communal responsibility. Children grew up watching their elders weave roots, ensuring this knowledge would never be lost.

The most iconic is the Double-Decker Living Root Bridge of Nongriat—two bridges stacked one above the other, spanning a gushing stream. It took decades of careful tending, a feat of patience and collaboration that embodies the very soul of Meghalaya.

The bridges are not just pathways but symbols in Khasi folklore. They represent the union between humans and the spirits of the forests. Crossing one was like stepping into a covenant with nature, a reminder that survival here meant respect for the land. Even today, walking across a root bridge feels almost surreal—mossy roots curling beneath your feet, the forest breathing all around, and the realization that what you tread upon is alive, still growing, still evolving. In recent years, the bridges have become world-famous, drawing eco-tourists, photographers, and researchers. UNESCO has listed them as candidates for World Heritage status, recognizing them as unique examples of living architecture. They have become global symbols of climate resilience, teaching the world how indigenous knowledge and natural systems can coexist in harmony.

My Reflections on Cherrapunji

Standing on a living root bridge is like standing in the middle of time itself. You are connected to the ancestors who patiently guided the first tender roots across the stream, and to the future generations who will walk this same path long after we are gone. It is not only the bridge—it is the story of roots, water, and patience. It is proof that when humanity listens to nature, what emerges is not exploitation but a living bond.

These bridges are works of art, still alive, still teaching us lessons of endurance and respect. In their tangled embrace, we find not just a way to cross rivers, but a way to cross into a deeper understanding of coexistence.